The other House
by BenryPale
Summary: The day the plane crashes, Benjamin Linus reflects on the Others he works with.


Benjamin Linus' eye snapped open, and he squinted slightly, and then blinked, trying to rid himself of the crust that obscured and blurred his vision. He sighed deeply, and as he opened his mouth, it was filled with mattress.

He was lying on his stomach in bed, shirtless in boxers, with a small glass of scotch sitting idly on the dressing table. Slowly, and with a long, mournful groan, he lifted himself from the double bed.

He stood, shivering slightly at the cold feel of the floor beneath his bare feet, and proceeded to the kitchen, ready for some breakfast.

Things had been going...normally. Normal for most of them, for him, it hadn't been going well, not well at all. But no, he wasn't going to think about that, and he certainly wasn't going to try and get drunk like he did last night. Drunkenness bought out the real person, and it certainly wasn't something he indulged in. Alcohol turned the most perfect gentleman into a raving, leering beast, and he sometimes wandered if that was who every man was, deep down under the pretense of civilization. Not him, though, and certainly not here. He was a gentleman, and he took pride in that fact.

He gently prodded the bacon in the frying pan, and turned the heat up slowly. He was a good cook, always had been, and it came as naturally to him as violence came to Danny.

Daniel Pickett worried him to a great extent. He had shown himself to be violent, and when he was brave enough, disobedient. Yes, he needed to be disciplined from time to time, he certainly did.

But Danny was still a good person, just enthusiastic in certain areas. And Colleen would testify to that.

Colleen. That woman was a Godsend. That is, if God ever sent anyone anything of any worth, which he didn't. Ben had long abandoned the concept of a Christian God. Some good ideas, true. Not that anyone listened to the good ideas. But he was getting distracted again. Colleen.

When a gun was shoved in her face, she wouldn't flinch, she would be logical, calm...the only trouble was her emotional side. He never let anybody in, and was scared of no one, not even Ben. Danny was her only confident, and sometimes Benjamin wondered how much even Danny broke through that shell.

Speaking of shells, one cracked open, and the runny yellow yolk spilled into the blender. Then another.

Then there was Tom. Thomas. Tommy. The Tomster. Easily the friendliest, nicest and most competent in town. Tough but fair, with a sense of humor. And one of the strongest bastards Ben had ever met.

Bea was...complicated. Nice enough, but all business, and hard to communicate with.

Goodwin was competent, strong, focused and...emotional. He was too trusting, but he himself was worthy of a great deal of trust.

Ethan was friendly enough, unpopular, a little quiet, but friendly and helpful. And desperate for connection, of any kind. He had almost been with Juliet, but she had refused him. He was heart-broken, but only Ben and Tom knew. Ben, because he could read people and could see past the fake face. And Tom, because he was everyone's best friend, and Ethan was certain to have confided in him. Two years later, and he had stayed her friend. He was over there fixing her plumbing right away.

He got along well with Amelia (although not as of late) and Adam, well...he was a relentless suck-up.

As his breakfast neared completion, he reached for the CD stack, all neatly organized. He changed them from time to time. It used to be alphabetical, and now it was genre. He was about to pick out some Tchaikovsky, but no. He reached for Coldplay. Not exactly uplifting. Just past some Lennon. Then he made his selection.

He lifted the CD, placing it in the tray and pressing play. He then began to get dressed, allowing a small smile to grow on his face as the music built, and before he knew it, he was dancing to one of his best-loved bands. Dancing like nothing had happened.

_Carry on my wayward son  
There'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don't you cry no more_

Once I rose above the noise and confusion  
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion  
I was soaring ever higher  
But I flew too high

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man  
Though my mind could think I still was a mad man  
I hear the voices when I'm dreaming  
I can hear them say

Carry on my wayward son  
There'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don't you cry no more

Masquerading as a man with a reason  
My charade is the event of the season  
And if I claim to be a wise man, well  
It surely means that I don't know

On a stormy sea of moving emotion  
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean  
I set a course for winds of fortune  
But I hear the voices say

Carry on my wayward son  
There'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don't you cry no more

No!

Carry on, you will always remember  
Carry on, nothing equals the splendor  
The center lights around your vanity  
But surely heaven waits for you

Carry on my wayward son  
There'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don't you cry (don't you cry no more) 

He finished dressing, and rushed to make sure he hadn't destroyed his bacon. No, it was fine. He lifted it with a fork onto his plate, and then dropped it onto the floor. Not due to clumsiness, though. The whole room was shaking.

The music stopped as the whole player slid off the table, crashing onto the floor, and a glass of milk he'd poured shattered into pieces that sprayed across the floor. He quickly headed to the door, standing still and keeping his balance carefully, until the brutal shaking stopped.

There was silence for a moment, and then he could hear voices outside. He rushed to the door, throwing it open and headed into the daylight.

He glanced across the way, and instantly saw Juliet, as beautiful as ever. His first thought was that he hadn't brushed his teeth yet. Without saying a word, he quickly and coldly rushed past her, looking up at the sky. And then he saw it. Soon afterwards...everyone else did too.

A plane. A big one, too. The sounds...they were monstrous. A harrowing screech, followed by a crashing thunderous sound that swooped through the sky down on them as it ripped apart in mid flight, three pieces falling in separate places. His eyes drifted away from the cockpit, looking at the fuselage, and the tail section.

He was shocked, and scared, for a second, just a second. A second was all he would allow himself.

"Goodwin." he glanced down, seeing the handsome, well-built man jog over to him. "Did you see where the tail landed?"

"Yeah. Probably in the water."

"You run, you can make that shore in an hour." he instructed, and turned to another soldier. "Ethan? Get to that fuselage, there may actually be survivors...and you're one of them."

Back to Goodwin. "A passenger, in shock." To Ethan. "Think up of an adequate story if they ask, stay quiet if they don't."

He looked more at Ethan than at Goodwin for his next order. "_Don't get involved._"

He looked at both of them. "Go." 

And with that, they were off, shooting through the jungle. It was unlikely Ethan would go to the fuselage yet. He was too independent, he'd do what interested him, and Ben regretted his decision straight away. But too late. He sighed deeply, and glanced around.

He knew he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But it was the pure nerve of her, holding that book. That moved him to-wards Juliet. He glanced at the author's name, not bothering to read the title. He threw an accusing look at Juliet. "So, I guess I'm out of the book club."


End file.
